


Her Dark Lord

by Bella_Smith, LaBelladoneX, smithandbarrowman



Series: The Black Emerald Syndicate [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Blackmail, Broken Engagement, Collaboration, Dark Theme, Except Charlie, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Infidelity, Intimidation, M/M, Mafia-style fic, Minor Character Death, Multi, References to Addiction, References to Drugs, Romance, Slut Shaming, Unhealthy Relationships, Weasley Family Bashing (Harry Potter)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-07
Updated: 2019-05-07
Packaged: 2020-02-26 20:51:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18724762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bella_Smith/pseuds/Bella_Smith, https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaBelladoneX/pseuds/LaBelladoneX, https://archiveofourown.org/users/smithandbarrowman/pseuds/smithandbarrowman
Summary: Everything has fallen apart for Hermione Granger; smothered by Weasleys and unsatisfied with her love life, she renounces her life and walks away from all she once held dear. A surprise encounter opens her eyes to a life she'd only dreamed of, and the love of a man she'd always wanted.Also posted on our official AO3 page - BellaSmithFics





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [coyg81 (coyg_81)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/coyg_81/gifts).



> This little birthday surprise contains Olympic-style Potter and Weasley bashing; we’re talking award-winning tearing apart of the Chosen One, his missus, friends, and in-laws (not all of them, some we still like). Basically… if you’re a Gryffindor, please know we mean no harm. 
> 
> A massive hamper of teabags and chocolate digestives to our alpha/beta, CuppaTea90, for casting her beady eye over this and pointing out our ridiculous oversights. We got very carried away at times! And we owe Sleepygrimm a huge debt of gratitude for the superhot artwork. 
> 
> And, of course, a very happy birthday to one of the most wonderful people we’ve have the pleasure to know — coyg-81. 
> 
> BellaSmith  
> LaBelladoneX and smithandbarrowman

September 2005

_She didn’t need to be saved. She needed to be found and appreciated, for exactly who she was.” Fuckology_

Hermione slowly lowered herself down onto the top step of the staircase, listening closely to the drunken voices coming from the living room. She curled her arms tightly around her knees, bracing herself for the cruel and hurtful words. He was drinking; they were inevitable.

“Pass us over a beer, pal. Cheers. What’ya say this movie was called again?” That coarse Dublin accent she loathed; no prizes for guessing who Ron had over.

“Lesbian Love Bunnies, Part Two: Nibble my Nipples.”

“Fuck me, look at the tits on that, I’m stiffening up! You watch this stuff with ‘Mione, Ron?”

“Nah, Seamus, ‘Mione’s not into that. She’s not into bloody anything—”

“Fuck, mate, seriously? One I’m seein’ now would turn herself inside out for me — bitch fuckin’ begs to be taken up the arse all the time! And the other—”

“What the fuck! You’re doing two birds at once?” Ron’s shocked response was tinged with jealousy.

“You know me! Played them off each other for a while then fucked them both last weekend. Got Dean over and spit-roasted the cunts after they’d eaten each other out. Best night in a long time.”

“Should’ve called us, Shay,” Harry commented. “I could do with a decent shag.”

“What’s up with Ginny? You guys alright?” Ron asked over the hiss of another beer opening.

“Always too tired after practise, too busy before,” Harry moaned. “Fucking sick of wanking off.”

“You need some pussy on the side,” Seamus remarked. “Fleshlights will only help you so fuckin’ much, you need to dip yer wick into something—”

The whistles and jeers that followed from Ron and Harry left Hermione cringing. No doubt the visual joke was tasteless and crass, and she felt tears on her cheeks as Seamus laughed that hideous wheeze that always spread fag breath around the room, and made her gag.

Merlin, she hated him so much. She’d disliked his uncouth behaviour in school but now she positively hated him — his filthy habits, the way he leered after women, and the fact he had both her fiancé and her best friend wrapped around his cigarette-stained fingers.

She couldn’t detest Seamus Finnigan more if she tried.

She hated that Ron and Harry got on so well with him. She wanted to tell them he was a bad influence — had tried to — but ended up with a condescending pat on the head and a curt reminder that they were no longer in school.

At first when Seamus started to come around to her childhood home — left to her in her parent’s will and immediately invaded by Weasleys — she was convinced he was responsible for leading her boys astray, turning them into heavy-drinking, porn-watching arseholes. But, over the past year, she began to realise that Ron and Harry had actually just become that way themselves, joining the Auror Program with most of their classmates, training during the day and boozing every night. At first, Hermione didn’t mind; they’d just survived a war that had stolen their childhoods, but the partying got out of control and personalities changed, while Hermione seemed to be the only one who remained the same.

Ginny was so obsessed with the Holyhead Harpies that Hermione hardly ever saw her, and — judging by what Harry had just said — neither did he.

“Mate, I know Gin’s my sister but listen—” Ron began, cracking open another can, “if she’s not putting out then you need to _get out_. Or play on the side. Dad’s been shaggin’ Mary Cattermole for years. After havin’ seven kids, he said Mum’s—”

Hermione put her hands over her ears; she didn’t want to hear the rest. The Weasleys had once been her surrogate family, now they were invaders in her home, constantly popping in and giving unwanted advice. Molly was always picking at Hermione, belittling her career — Hermione planned to work her way up through the Ministry and one day run for the top position — and constantly telling her ‘a Weasley wife was a dutiful wife’. If Hermione Granger thought she could continue working after marriage and neglect her husband and family, then she was out of her mind. It simply wasn’t done! Fleur was a perfect homemaker, already pregnant with her third child, and an expert at soufflés. Audrey had given up work as soon as she’d married Percy and was three months gone, happily at home all day practising her needlework. Angelina only worked part-time at the shop when George was busy — she spent the rest of her spare time at Hermione’s house along with Molly, commenting on every item left behind by the late Mr and Mrs Granger.

Molly was also in denial about Ginny’s career, convinced that her youngest was far too influenced by Hermione’s ridiculous feminist ideals. The chance to make her only daughter the future Mrs Harry Potter had been foremost in Molly’s mind since the morning Ron had written home to inform her the young boy they’d met on Platform 9¾ the previous Sunday was actually The Boy Who Lived.

Having Harry Potter as her only son-in-law would escalate Molly Weasley into the circles of society she craved, surpassing the likes of Narcissa Malfoy and Primula Parkinson. If only Ginny would just give up that stupid sport, get a Potter ring on her finger, and start churning out little red headed green-eyed babies faster than you could say _grandchildren._

_Tempus Fugit._

Molly and Arthur never spoke about Charlie.

There had been _plenty_ to say when Sirius came out — Molly’s loud and unwanted opinion would have put Walburga Black to shame — but the day she’d walked in on ‘the convict’ and her second-eldest child, she’d denounced Charlie as her son. Arthur had said nothing, but his disgust was obvious.

Charlie and Sirius left England two days later, married in Romania, and were blissfully happy together. Hermione was insanely jealous.

Hermione was dragged back to the present by the taste of blood as she realised she’d bitten through her lower lip. She ran her tongue over the wound, wincing at the sting, her minding racing.

“So, whatya sayin’, Ron? You don’t get anythin’ like that?” Seamus’ loud accent broke her thoughts.

“Well… we do some stuff, I guess,” she heard her fiancé reply. “Just not what I want. I mean, I’ve suggested all sorts but she’s not into… I mean, she’s not _vanilla_ but she’s just not much fun. Lav used to love it when we got hot and heavy; I’d get a bit rough and she’d fucking scream for it. Mione will get on top once in a while but she’ll always close her eyes, you’d think she doesn’t want to fucking look at me. Fucking pisses me off.”

“How ‘bout you two find some pussy to keep yis busy?”

“It’s beginning to look like we’ll have to,” Harry moaned. “Porn and wanking are getting fucking boring.”

“Yeah,” Ron took a loud slurp from his Muggle beer can. “At this stage, I’m… eh… I’m thinking of… well…”

“Throwin’ the leg somewhere else?” Seamus filled in the blanks. “Tellin’ yis, lads. It’s the only way.”

Ron belched, no doubt with his mouth wide open. “I’d love another go at Lav…”

“Look, Ron, life’s too short,” Harry piped up.

Harry Potter, Hermione’s supposed best friend. What a fucking joke.

“Shay’s right,” he continued. “I love Gin, I fucking love her so much. But while she’s out there riding a fucking broom, my balls are going blue. You and ‘Mione are going nowhere; she’s only interested in her books and her work. Remember we used to say ‘the only thing that’ll turn Hermione on is a page’? Go try Lav — you need it. I’m going to talk to Gin one more time and see if she’ll cop the fuck on. If not, well…”

She listened to the three of them discuss her as if she were a frigid plank of virginal wood in bed, counting each insult on her fingers, and stopping to glance at the huge rock of sheer bling that should have weighed down her left hand but instead constantly twisted around due to its light weight and ill-fitting size.

Hermione closed her eyes and took a deep breath. It was time. She’d put off the inevitable for too long, hoping that Ron would change and become the man she’d always hoped he would be. But she knew — deep down she’d always known — he was a lazy, selfish, uncultured, boring, disgusting slob. Just like she’d tried to convince herself that the Weasleys were _not_ the family from hell, and Harry only had her best interests at heart.

Bollocks.

* * *

 

Moving carefully, Hermione stood and crept across the landing into her bedroom. She had told Ron she needed an early night; it wouldn’t do for him to hear dainty footsteps overhead and come upstairs after Harry and Seamus left, looking for a drunken shag.

Listening carefully, she heard him open the refrigerator, calling back into the living room that they’d have to go out for more beer.

“Why don’t we head to The White Horse?” Harry asked. “It’s Monday. Darts night.”

“Fuck, yeah,” Seamus added. “Don’t they serve chilli to the darts team on Mondays? Reckon we could score a few bowls if I look the right way at the piece behind the bar.”

“White Horse, it is so.” Harry rubbed his hands together. “See you there?”

Three pops of Disapparation followed, and Hermione was alone.

She grabbed her beaded bag and opened her wardrobe, emptying the rails and shelves of all her clothing and accessories. Being the organised and slightly obsessive witch she was, the internal compartments of the bag resembled a mini apartment; she could technically live _inside_ the bag if she wanted.

But who’d ever put their entire life inside a piece of luggage? A ridiculous thought!

Hermione walked methodically around the house, gathering toiletries and mementos. Sadly it didn’t take long to collect them; Molly had started redecorating a few weeks before, when she knew her future daughter-in-law would be at work, immediately relocating to the Burrow the ornaments and furniture Mr and Mrs Granger had spent their entire married life collecting. All Hermione had left was a small nest of tables, a novelty china teapot in the shape of a washing machine, and four photographs.

Finally, stepping over the empty beer cans and out into the hallway, she removed the gaudy engagement ring that continually spun around her finger. Ron told her he’d had it made with her in mind — a brilliant diamond for his girl. But when she’d held the ring up close to her face and her breath had fogged the stone, Hermione knew it was as cheap as he was. Why she didn’t walk out on Ron Weasley then, she’d no idea.

She leaned down to place it gently on the wooden floor, stood back up, took a deep breath, and smashed her foot onto it so hard, the glass shattered into a myriad of tiny pieces.

“Just like my love for you, Ronald Weasley,” she said out loud, squaring her shoulders. “You and your fucking family.”

* * *

Villiers Public House was small and dark, lit only by small lamps scattered around the walls. It couldn’t hold more than fifty people at any one time, but it was perfect. Mr Granger used to meet his colleagues there after work every Thursday because the pub ‘served the best ale in the whole of London!’

He had brought Hermione into the pub once, when they’d spent the day sightseeing together, just before her tenth birthday. She’d needed the loo, and he’d desperately needed a pint after all of her exhaustive questions. She’d loved the darkness, the shabbiness, the chatter amongst the men as they drank whisky or lowered pints, large working-class hands wrapped around their glasses.

Hermione slipped in through the door quietly, remembering a small alcove to the right of the bar, wondering if the inside of the establishment would be any different. She shouldn’t have been surprised to see that it wasn’t, fifteen years later. The stools were all lined up, dark wood scratched from years of overalls, jeans, and thick-soled boots. The mahogany bar hadn’t changed, the mirror in the middle of the shelving advertising Port Ellen whisky — a scotch no longer distilled. The doors to the toilets were in the same place, the ladies’ sign still crooked.

The only part of the pub that _had_ changed — as far as Hermione could see — was the cushioned seating around the perimeter. It used to be a dull brown, almost lost against the panelled mahogany interior. Now it was a rich emerald, warm and inviting, its colour mirrored in the seating of the chairs neatly tucked under the various shaped tables.

The colour reminded Hermione of a certain family.

A family no one had heard of since the Battle of Hogwarts.

All she knew was Voldemort had killed one of them not long before his own demise. The remaining two had not been seen since.

She thought about them often. She thought about _him_ often. He had been the subject of many teenage fantasies; he also featured regularly in Hermione’s mind when she’d close her eyes and wish the body moving against her was his, not Ron’s.

If ever there was a man Hermione Granger longed to have above her, beneath her, touching her, holding her — it was him.

He hadn’t been heard of in seven years. Neither of them had. But it never stopped her wondering.

The barman got her attention by waving a ragged dishcloth in front of her face.

“You alright there, my love? What can I get you?”

“What? Oh, yes, I’m fine, thank you.” Hermione smiled, tucking her hair behind her ear nervously. “I’ll have a But— sorry, a Baileys over ice, please.”

“Comin’ right up,” he smiled, tapping the bar before turning his back to her.

Hermione sat up on one of the old barstools in the alcove, looking around the rest of the pub briefly. There were three other patrons — all male. Two were watching the 19.15 from Doncaster on the small screen to the left of the bar, the other halfway through a broadsheet’s cryptic crossword.

Her drink appeared in front of her, accompanied by a wide smile from the barman. She nodded her thanks and settled in silence.

Hermione traced the condensation slipping down the side of the engraved tumbler as time went by, ignoring the sudden sound of the door opening and the brief rumble of the busy London evening that filled the air.

“Raphael, Carlos!” The barman turned away from the horse racing, ripping up a small betting slip. “Usual?”

“Si, grazie, Jerry.” A heavily accented reply caught Hermione’s attention. She glanced sideways through her hair, spotting two massive giants making their way to the bar. Hermione blinked a few times, shocked to see such well-dressed and obviously well-to-do punters in her dad’s old pub.

The sound of fresh coffee beans in a grinder had Hermione choking on her drink. This… this was a _man’s_ pub… they had crisps behind the bar and… pork scratchings! Here she was, watching two Italian titans in designer suits being served espresso in tiny cups with shots of Grappa on the side.

What. The. Actual. Fuck?

“One day you’ll drink pints for me, lads,” Jerry joked, watching with an amused expression as they rinsed out their empty cups with the liqueur before swallowing it down in one gulp. “Boss on his way?”

“Just finishing a call,” Giant Number Two answered this time. Giant Number One was receiving a text message.

“He’s ready,” Number One announced, pocketing his phone. “Same again, usual for Mr M, Jerry.”

“Righto.”

And the air was once again filled with the scream of shredded coffee beans and the hum of London traffic.

Hermione shifted in her chair to see who this _Mr M_ was, curious to find out a little more about the person who appeared to have… what? Bodyguards? Gardeners?

She smiled at her own joke, nodding at Jerry to replace her empty glass when he was ready.

“Serve Ms Granger first, Jerry, if you don’t mind.”

Hermione froze, her hammering heart the only part of her moving as it threatened to break out of her chest like Giger’s alien. She hadn’t heard that voice in years, but she’d recognise it anywhere.

How, in her many fantasies, he’d whisper in her ear as he took her from behind, his breath on her skin, his hands… Merlin, his hands…

She kept staring ahead, trying desperately to regulate her breathing. Jerry placed another Baileys in front of her, frowning slightly at her expression.

“You alright, Miss?”

“I’m sure she’s fine,” that fine aristocratic voice answered quickly. “Ms Granger is, no doubt, surprised to hear my voice. It has been quite some time since we last saw each other.”

“Seven years,” she whispered to herself. “Seven years, four months, and sixteen days.”

He reached for the drink Jerry had set beside her own. A rich amber liquid lapped around two cubes of ice, she heard them clink together as his fingers slid around the glass.

“You two know each other then?”

“Ms Granger attended school with my son.”

“Ah, I see,” Jerry replied casually. “Haven’t seen Draco around for some time now. He away?”

“Amsterdam. Still working for me but prefers to live over there.” The conversation was paused briefly as he sipped his drink. “Ah, the 25 year old. A perfect age… so rich, perfect for savouring, harsh at first but softening as one experiences the… peach for the first time.”  

Hermione swallowed, her hands tightening around her drink.

It was now or never.

Slowly she turned her head.

The stretch of his left arm as he held up his tumbler showed the glint of an elegant silver watch against a plain leather strap. That caught Hermione’s attention for a moment. How… Muggle. In fact, his entire outfit was distinctly Muggle; he was wearing a steel grey three-piece suit, his charcoal tie perfectly aligned in front of a pristine white shirt. She didn’t look down towards his shoes but figured they’d be man-made and luxurient. Instead, Hermione looked up.

And gasped.

His shaven skin glowed with health, his cool grey eyes — flecked with the tiniest hints of green and blue — holding a warmth she had never seen before. But his hair…

_Holy bloody fuck!_

Gone was the long, feather-soft white-blond hair the Malfoy men were famous for. His cut was positively masculine — short at the sides and back, neatly combed back away from his forehead, and the shade of darkest brown that could easily be mistaken for black.

He was beautiful. Elegant. Stunning.

Here.

“Wh-where have you b-been?” She stammered, her eyes wide. “It… it’s been—”

“Seven years, four months, and sixteen days,” he laughed. “You weren’t as quiet as you thought. It’s a delight to meet with you again… under different circumstances.”

“I-I...”

“Join me? Please?” He indicated towards the back of the pub, where Carlos was already holding open the door to the ladies’ toilets.

Hermione jumped off the barstool, her fingers twitching towards the narrow pocket in her jeans that housed her wand. “What are… what’s going on?”

He laughed again. “It’s… magic,” he grinned, leaning down to speak a little closer to her, checking from the corner of his eye that the patrons at the bar weren’t in earshot. His breath caressed her cheek, instantly reminding Hermione of her many fantasies involving the man in front of her. “No women come anywhere near this pub, the wards are charmed to repel them. But there’s always been one exception, just one. A lock of your hair—” his eyes flickered away from her face, momentarily mesmerized by the lusciousness of her chestnut curls “—procured by Draco years ago was embedded into the wards, on the off chance that perhaps, one day, you’d… drop by.”

“How…”

“Oh, he had his ways. I think I remember him telling me he got Miss Bulstrode to pull your hair… anyway, that’s neither here nor there. Please, join me. I came as soon as the wards alerted me to your presence, we have much to discuss.”

Hermione couldn’t think; this was all too surreal. Of all the gin joints, in all the towns, in all the world…

Lucius Malfoy was standing in her dad’s old pub in Muggle London, looking like he owned the place.


	2. Chapter 2

_ “Nobody goes through more shite in life than a person with a good heart.” Fuckology _

Lucius Malfoy had never stopped thinking about Hermione Granger; her bravery, her intelligence... her beauty. He had instructed Draco to keep up the pretense of hating her and Muggle-kind as a whole — just as he had — despite his constant pleas to Mad-Eye. If the rest of The Order knew he and his family were spies, wouldn’t it be easier all around? For Draco? Potter? 

Wouldn’t it be easier for  _ her? _ To know she was admired, not hated? To know she was held in the highest regard by the son? To know she had a place in the heart of the father?

Moody had refused, insisting the less people who knew the better. 

Constant fucking vigilance.

Narcissa’s murder had been heartbreaking for Draco; he’d idolised his mother, mourning her death for months following the Final Battle. For Lucius, he had lost his best friend — the woman he had been forced to marry. She had had no choice but to leave the love of her life behind in the Muggle world and obey her family’s demands — ‘marry Malfoy or we kill the filth you’ve soiled yourself with.’ 

Lucius felt sick at the thoughts of breaking up a loving relationship, but his family and Narcissa’s were too obsessed with blood purity, the Dark Lord was rising, the timing was all wrong… he wasn’t strong enough. 

Not back then.

Two days before their wedding, Lucius had presented Narcissa with a small brass key. He’d bought a small cottage near Andromeda and surrounded both properties with enough wards and protective spells to keep out Merlin himself. There she could be with her love; all he had asked for in return was an heir. She had heartedly agreed, their close friendship blooming from that moment.

Narcissa had suspected all along that her husband held deep feelings for Hermione Granger. She’d listened to him speak in awe of the young woman’s intelligence and defiance of Draco, spotted his tears when Bellatrix had tortured her, held him afterwards while he’d sobbed. 

Their plan was simple; once Voldemort was defeated by Potter, and the Malfoys were revealed as spies for The Order, Narcissa was going to leave the Manor to live in the little cottage. Divorce papers would be signed and registered, life would begin again for them both. But Mad-Eye had been killed — the only Order member who knew the family were willing spies — and Narcissa had been struck down for lying about Potter. In those brief minutes following Voldemort’s defeat, Lucius realised his future had just gone to hell in a handbasket. He’d grabbed Draco by the arm, Disapparated them both to Narcissa’s cottage, and stayed with her heartbroken lover until everything had calmed down.

Lucius and Draco Malfoy were never seen in wizarding Britain again.

On the morning of the Battle, Narcissa had handed Lucius a note, asking him to read it after she’d left for good. He’d put it in his pocket, agreeing to her request, and finding it weeks later when he’d shook himself out of his misery and decided to get on with his life.

 

_ My dear Lucius _

_ There are no words to describe how grateful I am to you for your friendship and loyalty these past years. You truly are a giant amongst men and I hope, one day, our world will be in awe of the Lucius Malfoy that I have had the pleasure to know. _

_ The kindness and compassion you have shown to Michael and I — supporting our relationship all these years — will never be forgotten, and we are truly in your debt. But I want to make sure you understand you will always have a place in my heart and that this is not goodbye, it is — as the Muggles say — a ‘see you soon’.  _

_ Lucius, I pray your heart finds love with the one you have always wanted — the one who ignites the fire within you and helps you find peace. She intrigued you as a child, she bested you as a teenager, she captivated you as a young woman. Hermione Granger is, without doubt, the true love you deserve. _

_ If I can help you win her heart, I will do so without question.  _

_ When you handed me that key — all those years ago — you asked for one thing. Just one. I willingly gave it, not realising it would change my life. Our son has been our best achievement, our miracle. He is everything I could wish for in a young man, and I am immensely proud to be his mother. Just as I have always been proud to stand by your side and fight for what is right.  _

_ When this war is over, and our secrets revealed, I sincerely hope you and Draco can live in the peace and happiness you both deserve.  _

_ I also hope you will visit me regularly. Michael promised to teach you how to play golf, remember?  _

_ A few more hours, I hope, and our lives can begin again. Just a few more hours.  _

_ Go get her, Lucius.  _

_ Cissa _

 

His first priority had been to access the secret accounts he’d opened years before in Muggle banks and purchase a small property. From there, with the help of Michael, Lucius and Draco learned how to live like Muggles and settle into their society. They were quick learners, instantly taking a liking to good tailoring and scotch.

But the finer things in life were only the beginning. 

Michael had recently spoken of a cousin dying from a drugs overdose. Lucius had sympathised accordingly, mulled over the explanations his friend had provided, and spent a long evening in the company of his son.

Planning.

Draco excelled as a potioneer, Michael had a talent for numbers, Lucius was born with a brilliant mind for business.

So it was decided. 

The Malfoys were going into the drugs trade.

* * *

Hermione reluctantly walked to the back of the small pub where Carlos was patiently waiting, the door to the ladies’ toilets completely hidden behind his bulk. She could feel the gentle brush of a strong hand at the base of her spine, guiding her towards the smiling giant. 

“Carlos, please make sure Ms Granger is comfortable,” Lucius spoke kindly, something Hermione certainly did not expect. 

He leaned towards her again, his breath hot on her skin. Merlin, she could hardly think!

“I need to have a quick word with Raphael and Jerry. Would you like some coffee?”

Now, she could hardly nod.

“Y-yes, please, Mr—”

“Lucius, please. I’ll be with you in a moment.”

It was only when he removed his hand that Hermione realised he’d still been touching her all that time, her spine tingling from his caress. She was frozen to the spot, brought back to reality by a slight cough and the call of her name.

“Ms Granger… da questa parte, per favore.”

“Oh, eh… sorry,” Hermione blushed and walked past Carlos, into the ladies’ toilet. “Th-thank you.”

“Prego,” he grinned down at her. “Go straight through, please.”

He closed the door with the crooked sign behind him, leaving her in a tiny hallway with another door facing her, also mahogany but new and well polished. Taking a deep breath, Hermione did her usual trick of talking to herself. 

“Come on, Hermione, summon that Gryffindor—” she paused, a wave of cold reality washing over her. “Actually, fuck that. Be yourself. Be a Granger.”

She opened the door quickly and walked through, fully expecting to find a dingy toilet and no toilet roll. 

She did not expect to find herself in a luxurious office lined with walnut panelling and gold inlay. 

She did not expect her tattered Converse to sink into the plush carpet beneath her feet. 

She did not expect…

Making her way cautiously into the middle of the room, Hermione turned in a slow circle, taking it all in.  

The carpet was a deep cream, matching the leather seating around the Art Deco desk. Four tulip loveseats, also cream and walnut, surrounded a complementary coffee table, the Malfoy family crest engraved into the rich wood. Bookshelves lined two walls, artwork another. The fourth wall housed a large floor to ceiling window, the view of the Thames lit up at night instantly catching her attention. 

Tears dampened her cheeks as she watched a sight-seeing barge make its way along the water, the memories of her day out in London with her father flooding back. Such innocent times — before magic, before the war, before the bloody Weasleys. Before the only things she had left were shrunk into a tiny beaded bag that sat in her jacket pocket. 

“My apologies, Ms Granger,” Lucius’ voice shook Hermione out of her thoughts, “I’ve just sent—”

He had closed the door behind him, his suit jacket in his hand. The sight of her tears as she spun around stopped him in his tracks. 

It was as if time stood still.

He was in front of her before she realised he’d moved.

“What’s wrong?” He asked quietly, his eyes searching her face. “Tell me.”

“I-I… I don’t know where to begin.”

Lucius snapped his fingers and a vintage Portmeirion coffee service appeared on the engraved table, her untouched Baileys beside it, the ice long melted. 

“Come, Ms Granger.” He placed his hand behind her elbow, his other waving towards the couches. “Let’s talk.”

It was early evening when Hermione had walked into Villiers. By the time she’d finished telling her entire life story to none other than Lucius Malfoy, it was near midnight. 

Why she’d started she’d no idea, words just seem to pour as easily as the coffee. Hermione had years of pent-up frustration and anger, neglect and need. And here she was, sitting with one of the most devious and sexiest Slytherins of them all, renouncing her house, her friends, her extended family… her entire life.

His laugh was like a smack in the face. 

“Are you mocking me?” She demanded, jumping up furiously, her coffee cup smashing against the table. 

She froze, horrified as the hot liquid seeped through her jeans.

“Forgive me.” Lucius looked suitably ashamed, the coffee cup repairing itself. “Your last comment was amusing and… unexpected. I believe you meant to  _ think _ that, not say it out loud.”

“Oh, bollocks.” She sat back down heavily and buried her face her in hands. “Bollocks. Bollocks. Bollocks.”

The couch dipped beside her and his hand hovered just above her faded denim. Hermione couldn’t see what he was doing but the electricity shooting through her limbs left her in no doubt just how close he was. 

“Did you burn yourself?” He asked. 

“No. I’m… alright… thank you,” she managed to reply. “I’d just like to go now, before I die from embarrassment. I’m sure I’ve only minutes to live.”

She peeked out through her fingers to see the coffee stain siphoned away by the tip of Lucius’ wand. His closeness was causing her body to react violently and she was terrified he could sense her emotions, not to mention her arousal. 

Lucius suddenly stood up, turning to look back down at her. “Are you hungry?”

Hermione lowered her hands. “A little. But, as I said, I should go…”

“Have supper with me,” he interrupted. “Please. I’ll have something delivered here.”

“What about the pub closing?” She asked. “Won’t we be kicked out?”

He laughed again and she suddenly felt as if her organs had started playing Twister.

“I own this place,” he replied. “It’s not in my name, of course, but I bought it some years ago. I needed a base in Muggle London and Jerry, the barman, is a brother of a good friend.”

“He’s a wizard?”

“No.”

“Squib?”

“No.”

“Then his brother’s a wizard?”

“No.”

“Is anyone in their family magical?”

“No. They are all Muggles.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow, not believing a word. 

_ “You!” _ She pointed directly up at him, the rest of her body following. “You, Lucius Malfoy, have Muggle friends? Seriously, how thick do you think I am to believe something like that?”

“On the contrary, Ms Granger, I do not believe you to be  _ thick _ at all.” He reached forward to took hold of her finger, caressing it tenderly with his own. “I still believe you to be the brightest witch of our age. Michael Villiers has been an acquaintance since before you were born, and a dear friend for the past seven years, four months, and six—” he glanced at his watch “—seventeen days. Jerry is his brother. They were…  _ are _ … extremely important to both me and my son.”

Hermione’s inquisitive nature piqued, she withdrew her finger from his hold and sat back down. 

“Well then, Lucius, I’ve showed you mine, you show me yours.” 

It was past two in the morning when she was finally up to speed on Lucius’ life following the Final Battle, and near four by the time he’d finished answering her questions. 

“So you decided to produce non-addictive drugs?”

“Yes. It was a simple idea but I knew it would work. Draco and Pansy are prolific potioneers, the plants are readily available to us, Michael deals with the accounts, and Jerry provides this venue — I assure you, it’s safer than Hogwarts. We sell across Europe and are constantly expanding. We put more drug barons out of business in the first two years than Interpol did in ten, and drug-related deaths are at an all-time low in the areas where we trade. Don’t get me wrong; we’re in a dangerous business and we’ve made a lot of enemies. We work alongside various government health departments and Interpol branches, but we’ve stood on a lot of toes along the way.”

“So what’s next on your agenda?”

“We recently signed a contract with a major pharmaceutical firm to develop more efficient cures for various Muggle diseases, all of which I will sell on the open market at a loss. It’s my way of repairing the kindness I have experienced since turning up in this world with nothing.”

He didn’t think it was the right time to explain he’d been hiding money in Muggle bank accounts for years. 

Hermione was speechless, nibbling quietly on a sandwich as she composed her thoughts.

“How did you meet Michael?”

Lucius pursed his lips, staring at her for a long moment before answering. 

“It seems we’ve come to the crux of the conversation,” he eventually commented. “You’ve bared your soul, I think it’s only fair I do the same.”

Sighing, he stood slowly and stepped over to the side of the ornate desk, tapping on a knot in the wood. A small drawer appeared in the panel and silently slid towards him, revealing a tattered envelope inside.

The envelope was placed on the coffee table in front of Hermione.

“My cards are on the table, so to speak,” he commented, reaching for his jacket.

“Where are you going?” She frowned, placing the remainder of her sandwich down on the nearest plate and reaching for the envelope.

“I’ll be outside,” he replied. “After reading that, you’ll have two choices. One, you’ll ask to leave and I’ll have Raphael escort you to wherever you want to go. Or two, you’ll join me for a drink at the bar before we continue this  _ morning _ somewhere more comfortable.”

She watched him walk out the door and close it gently behind him. 

The ornate script on the front of the envelope was unfamiliar to Hermione but, from the first few lines of the well-read notepaper inside, she realised it was from Narcissa Malfoy.

 

_ My dear Lucius _

_ There are no words to describe how grateful I am to you for your friendship and loyalty these past years... _

 

It took three reads of the letter for the words to sink in. 

Another four reads to make sure what Lucius’ late wife meant in her words were real, and not just what Hermione desperately wanted to read.

Two more and she was sure. 

One more. Just for luck.

By the time she stepped back into the bar, Lucius was on his third scotch, a glass of Baileys on the countertop beside him. 

“I really hope the ice hasn’t melted in that glass,” she commented, climbing onto the barstool nearest to him. “I hate a drowned drink.”

She picked up the glass and held it up to his, tapping them together ever so slightly. 

“Cheers.”


	3. Chapter 3

_“Touch her in all ways non physical. Give her intellectual orgasms and allow temptation to drip from her ears. Go down on her thoughts and taste her perception. Learn her soul and she will fill the void of your filthiest imaginations.” A.D. Woods_

His invitation to continue their morning somewhere more comfortable brought forth memories she’d pushed from her mind many years before. Those fears, however, were alleviated the minute they Apparated.

This wasn’t the Manor. Instead they were standing in front of an elegant curved row of brick terraced houses, in what looked to Hermione like the affluent end of town. Kensington, perhaps? Chelsea? She couldn’t quite tell, but the houses had that historic grandeur that lent credence to her suspicions.

And, much like the terraces at Grimmauld Place, the house that belonged to Lucius was hidden, only revealing itself when he touched a loose cobblestone on the footpath.

“I would never take you there,” he murmured, reading her expression. “It has long been abandoned and ceased to be our home when…”

She nodded, saving him from having to tell her anything more about Narcissa’s death. Her fear of having to return to the scene of her torture was a slight in comparison to him having to live in a place where the memories of his brutally murdered wife lingered.

“This is my home now, Ms Granger, and you are the only memory I want here,” he said softly, gently stroking the backs of his fingers across her cheek. Cheeks that were heating under the intensity of his gaze. He leaned in closer, his mouth just a whisper away from her ear. “The _only_ memory.”

Hermione swayed on her feet. _The only memory. Did that mean...?_

“Yes, Ms Granger.” Lucius’ breath teased over her skin, and her nipples tightened, an ache spreading between her thighs. “The pub is not the only place women have not been.”

She stared up at him, seeing the hunger in his eyes, the desire, and her countless fantasies condensed into this one moment. This man wanted her, and he wanted her with a hunger he wasn’t trying to hide.

Curling his hands around her hips, he pulled her closer, his mouth tilted up, the devilish smile she would have once been wary of now made her body sing. The solid line of his desire pressed against her, already half hard, taking her breath away.

_Sweet Circe._

They weren’t even inside yet.

“Ms Granger, as lovely as it is to stand under the stars with you, there is so much more I would like to… show you.”

“Please,” she whispered, the simple word saying more than a thousand of her ramblings could ever express.

Lucius steered her gently along the short path to the front door, but she could sense the urgency in him; a racehorse eager to jump the gates.

He pressed his fingers to the door, which opened with a quiet click. The house was clearly warded, and knowing Lucius, would only ever open to its master. Hermione took half a step back, her eyes wide and searching. A million questions flooded her brain; how in the world had he done this?

Lucius chuckled. “Ms Granger, you can ask all the questions you would like tomorrow. Right now, however, I believe you would prefer that I take you inside.”

His home was exquisite, and not what Hermione had pictured at all. They had only just crossed the threshold into the entrance hall and, in what was her first visit to the _new_ Malfoy Manor, once more her breath had been taken away. The comfortable luxury that was his office reflected in his home; walnut panelling, wooden parquet floors, and an elegant carved staircase all gave the interior a warmth she’d not expected. The rich cream walls were broken only by a bold green — a colour so vibrant it looked like it had been painted with satin — which covered the massive central wall housing the fireplace. The effect was masculine and powerful, yet softened by the exquisite furnishings.

A single frame sat on the mantle and she picked it up, studying the candid photograph. It was gorgeous in its simplicity; Narcissa and Draco, mother and son, laughing together, unaware the shot had even been taken.

She swallowed the lump in her throat. Narcissa. Beautiful, womanly, worldly Narcissa. Hermione was sure that she didn’t compare.

She turned to face him, surprised to find him standing in the middle of the room, simply watching her.

“Lucius,” she whispered. “This is…”

Her words were lost. How could he even possibly think her in Narcissa’s league?

Lucius moved closer, taking the frame from her hands and, smiling at the image it held, returned it to its place on the mantle.

“Narcissa meant the world to me and there’ll always be a place in my heart for her. Just… not like that.” He glanced quickly back at the picture and then his eyes were firmly focused on Hermione. “But know this; her admiration for you was insurmountable.”

Hermione’s eyes grew wide. How was that possible? Narcissa Malfoy could not have been in awe of her… could she? Although the letter had confirmed it, Hermione was struggling to take it all in.

But Lucius didn’t allow her to dwell on her thoughts, moving closer yet.

“Ms Granger, I am going to be totally honest.” His eyes bore into hers, the rumble in his voice enough to make Hermione tremble. “I never thought in my wildest dreams, I’d have this chance… with you. Now that you’re here, however, I fully intend to show you the difference between a boy and a man. Do you still wish to stay?”    

Hermione hesitated, lowering her eyes, his stare was too intense. She wanted to give herself to him, wanted to let him do whatever he wanted with her body, but it all seemed too close now. Too real.

And he was right, he was a man. The only other person she had been with was truly a boy.

She looked back up at him, his expression hadn’t changed. He was simply staring at her, waiting, and looking like he would do so for eternity.

She breathed deeply, steadying her nerves and lifted her hand to him. She nodded once, shivering as his hand took hers. He smiled at her, and her heart took off at a gallop. He was so beautiful like that — rugged and worn from the war, but aged in a way that pushed him past handsome and right into breathtaking.

He kissed her fingers, and then in a surprise move, he gracefully turned her around, wrapping one solid arm around her waist and drawing her back against him. He swept her hair over her shoulder, his breath hot on her skin as he ghosted his lips along her neck, never actually making contact.

“Ms Granger,” his voice was low in her ear. “I will carry you to my bed. I will show you intimacy. I will show you how one so perfect is meant to be treated. I’m going to be all over you and I will not stop.”

Lucius slid his fingers along her jaw, touching her chin lightly and gently turning her face towards his. He paused, his mouth just a breath from hers, whispering how exquisite he thought she was before pressing his lips to hers in the softest kiss she could have ever imagined. It was nothing like the sloppy slobbering she had been subjected to for years. No, this was slow and gentle and deep, and her breath was already coming in gasps.

Hermione let out a soft sigh as his hand moved to her throat, her own reaching up to grip his wrist.

Lucius broke their kiss, immediately lowering his hand. “No?”

She turned in his arms and was struck by the emotion on his face; fear that he had scared her. Reaching up to stroke his cheek, she reassured him. “This is all so new, that’s all. And I’m not accustomed to being dominated.”

Lucius’ lips twitched, amusement colouring his face.

“What?” Hermione pulled her hand from his face, her cheeks heating with embarrassment. Ron had always wanted to choke her, or spank her arse — some latent mummy issues she was sure — but she had never allowed him to. Lucius’ touch, however, had been gentle and his reaction confused her. “What did I say?”

His hand touched the side of her throat, sliding slowly down to her collarbone, his fingertips tracing along the fine curve to her shoulder.

“I do not wish to dominate you, only to worship you.”

His fingers continued on their journey, drawing goosebumps down her arm. He circled her wrist, bringing her palm to his lips.

“For you see, Ms Granger, I hold you in the highest of regards. You are in my heart and I wish upon you no harm. I wish only for your pleasure.”

Not for the first time this evening, time stopped.

His words melted over her. _Highest regards. Her pleasure._ What was that like? To be appreciated? To feel pleasure given to her by another? She’d not ever known it.

She had dreamed for so long that there were men were like this. Strong and determined, confident and powerful. Soft and caring, with eyes only for one.

She had also dreamed that one day, one of those men would be hers.

Lifting her hand slowly, she placed it over his heart, feeling the steady beat through the soft cotton of his shirt. She stared at her fingers splayed across his chest. _In his heart?_

His hand came up to cover hers and she lifted her eyes to look at him.

“In your heart?” She whispered, almost fearful this was all a lie. But the swirl of emotion in his cool grey eyes allayed her fears.

“Ms Granger, your place in my heart has long been held.”

“Oh,” she breathed. Unable to think further than the words he had just spoken, she slipped her fingers through his hair, pulling him down so she could kiss him.

Lucius went easily to her, keeping the kiss slow, allowing her to lead. His arms wrapped around her and she savoured the feel of his solid frame against her. His lips were firm, tasting of expensive scotch and the chocolate parfait he had devoured back in his office whilst she had eaten the sensible sandwiches — his sweet tooth allowing her a tiny glimpse into the similarities between him and his son.

A tiny moan escaped her when his tongue slid across her lip. She instantly opened for him, allowing him to explore her mouth, and the heady rush of passion that had been missing in her life almost overwhelmed her.

Reaching down between them, Hermione spread her hand over the front of his trousers, pulling a deep groan from his chest. He broke their kiss, pulling her hand from him with another groan.

“Lucius?”

His hand was still firmly on her wrist, his eyes closing for a second as he swallowed.

“This isn’t something to be rushed.” His throat clicked as he swallowed again. “We will not fumble around like uncultured swines. You are a fine wine, meant to be savoured.”

He leaned down and pressed his nose to her neck, breathing in deeply, and she sensed he was fighting his own internal war to not strip her naked and throw her to the floor.

“I’m old-fashioned, I know.” He lifted his head. “I want to make love to you tonight, Ms Granger, fucking can come later. Tonight...” He released her hand and cupped her face, “tonight I want to go slow. I want to learn your body, draw out your pleasure, linger over those places that make you gasp.”

Hermione’s heart climbed into her throat. She had only ever known fast, unfeeling, hurried sex. “I’ve thought about this with you, what I want you to do to me,” she said, her voice shaking. “What I want to do to you.”

“Tell me what is it that you want me to do?”

“Take me upstairs.”

* * *

Lucius undressed her slowly, his body hardening as every smooth inch of her skin was revealed. He had been incorrect; exquisite wasn’t nearly enough to describe her.

He spent an age concentrating on the rise and fall of her chest and the breaths that fluttered as goosebumps rose in the wake of his trailing fingers. He walked around to stand at Hermione’s back, removing her shirt from behind, opening her bra and slowly peeling it away from her body. She shook with need, her curls the only barrier between her skin and his firm body.

She was shocked when he stepped back.  

“I have no intention of using magic to hurry this along,” his smile evident in the lilt of his voice, “but perhaps it might be easier if you remove those… that footwear.”

Hermione’s nerves calmed as she laughed. “They’re Converse,” she replied. “I have about a dozen pairs.”

He watched amused as she toed off each trainer and raised her legs to remove the small multi-coloured footies underneath. Next she reached for the button of her jeans but Lucius quickly moved forward, the heat of his body surrounding her again as he took over.

Pushing her curls over one shoulder again, he traced delicate kisses along her skin while flicking open the button and slowly pulling down the zip. Strong hands pushed the waistband of the jeans downwards, her pale blue panties joining the heavy denim. Stepping out of her remaining clothing, Hermione stood naked in the middle of Lucius’ bedroom.

He whispered against her skin how beautiful she was, how he planned to treasure her, worship her, love her. Hermione raised her arms and wrapped them around his neck, arching her body as Lucius’ hands explored and teased.

“Lucius…” she whispered. “Let me undress you, please… please, Lucius.”

She turned in his embrace, her nakedness fully exposed to his stare. Hermione couldn’t read his expression as his eyes roamed her body, her hands shaking from the need to cover herself but her mind forcing her to be strong, be open.

He had removed his jacket as soon as they’d arrived, leaving it across the back of a chair in the hallway. Hermione held up his right wrist, turning it over and placing a kiss in the palm of his hand whilst undoing his silver cufflink. She repeated the motion with his other hand, carefully removing his watch as well.

“Wait there,” she grinned, stepping back and walking over to his queen-size sleigh bed. “Which side is yours?”

“The left,” he replied, shakily, taking the moment to open his waistcoat and remove his own shoes and socks.

Hermione placed his accessories on the bedside locker and glanced up at the nearest window.

“I like the view from my side of the bed,” she quipped, walking back over to Lucius, not minding one bit that his eyes were not focused on her own. She reached out to push his waistcoat away from his shoulders, following her actions by opening his shirt buttons just as slowly as he did hers. His trousers were next, his tailored clothes heaped on the floor like wet towels following a teenager’s shower.

Neither of them cared.

“I’m overdressed for the occasion, Ms Granger.” They both looked down at his silk shorts, his hardness pulling the material away from his body. “It seems I require your assistance.”

She laughed, her fingers trailing along the waistband. Pausing, she dug her teeth into her lower lip, and looked up at him through her lashes. She stepped back slowly, holding in the laugh at his raised eyebrows.

“Mr Malfoy, I believe I’d rather watch the show.” She climbed slowly onto the bed, propping herself against the pillows, and waved a hand at him. “Please continue.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “You’re a little too much, Ms Granger. What happened to that shy kitten that I met earlier tonight?”

“You got her naked, and…” Hermione brushed her fingers across the curve of her breast, “she turned into a tiger.”

She found herself quite content at the thoughts of no longer being a lion.

Lucius’ mouth curled into the smirk she so loved. “Yes, she did.”

Her teeth dug into her lip again, her breath catching as his hands tugged at the waistband of those oh so stretched shorts. He smirked again, lowering them and letting them drop to the floor.

She drank him in; beautiful, smooth skin, broad chest, strong arms, and… oh… this man was perfection.  

Her breath shook as she exhaled. Merlin help her. Never in her life had she wanted so much to put her mouth anywhere on a man besides his lips. The most impressive erection she’d ever had the pleasure of seeing jutted out towards her — thick, long, and with moisture already gathering at the tip.

“Fuck.”  She whispered. The word was harsh, uncouth, but… _Fuck!_

Lucius chuckled, the bed dipping under his weight as he crawled up to join her, not hesitating to lower his mouth to her skin.

She was laid out across his bed, gloriously naked, Lucius beside her. His hand was splayed across her stomach, his mouth deliciously hot and wet and assaulting her nipples and breasts.

Hermione’s mind was spinning. The man she most desired, but never thought she would ever have, was causing her entire body to tingle from the way his mouth roamed over her.

“You have no idea… ” He murmured against her skin. “I’ve waited… forever for you.”

_Oh, this man was going to kill her._

She was breathless, made even more so when his hand slipped between her legs and stroked her inner thigh.

He lifted his mouth from her skin to stare down at her, his hand moving higher. She held her breath in anticipation, waiting, wanting, needing him to touch her.

His gaze never left hers as his caress brushed over her, a feather-light stroke, his fingers gone before she fully registered they were there. His smirk returned as he did it again… and again… and again.

Her breath left her lungs in a burst as his touch became firmer, slipping between her folds, and cursing quietly when he found her drenched. His thumb landed on her clit and she cried out, her fingernails digging into the hard muscle of his shoulder.

“Perfection,” he murmured, sliding his fingers deep inside her. “Sweet, fucking, perfection.”

Hermione arched off the bed, Lucius’ fingers curling inside her body, his thumb circling outside. She cried out again, and his mouth descended on her again, teeth scraping her nipple.

Teeth and fingers and tongue. Teasing, taunting, sliding through her, tasting. It was too much. Her body seized, clenching hard around his fingers, and a pleasure so pure washed over her.

“Lucius.” It was all she could manage. He had just given her more than she had ever experienced, and she knew that he was far from finished. Smiling with so much love in his expression when she finally opened her eyes, he leaned down and kissed her softly, withdrawing his fingers.

“Ms Granger, you are a sight to behold.”

He moved over her, cradling her head, and kissing her deeply. Her hands stroked over his shoulders, down his back, curving around his hips and finally, _finally_ , she wrapped her hand around the sublime piece of manhood that she had so longed to have inside her.

Lucius hissed at her touch, pulling back from her mouth and watching her hand slide along the sizeable length of him. Her fingers were light, exploring, feeling… the warmth of him in her hand, the pulse of his heart beating through his body, she gasped at the sensations she felt passing from him to her.

He began to rock against her — a hint of how their lovemaking would feel for them both. Lucius couldn’t keep his eyes away from her strokes. He was so close to her folds, so close to where his fingers had brought her such joy moments before. So close… and yet…

“Stop… stop, please.”

“You feel so good,” she moaned, “so hard for me, Lucius. All for me.”

“Always for you,” he sighed, “but I need…”

He moved until he was completely over her, adjusting their bodies until her hands were back around his neck, sliding across his broad shoulders.

“What do you need, Lucius?” Her dark eyes glowed with lust as she felt him slide easily into her waiting body.

“I need to feel you around me,” he whispered, his movements achingly slow. “I want you to know how it feels… to have our bodies joined in this way, so close… so perfectly close. Feel me, _Hermione_ , feel me make love to you.”

A single tear slid from Hermione’s eye; the emotion of his words, the touch of his skin, the feel of his body moving within her…

A man was making love to her.

A man was holding her in his arms and making her feel beautiful.

A man was taking his time with her pleasure, worshipping her like a goddess, telling her of his love without words.

That man was the one she’d longed for.

It was all she’d ever wanted. All she’d ever wished for but never had with… no, his name was lost to her. They were all lost to her. All she had now was her future and she was in his arms and he was in her.

She knew from his eyes that he didn’t just want her. He loved her. And Hermione knew she could love him back.

The feel of his breath warming her skin, his stare as he kept eye contact with her, the caress of his fingers…

He moved a little to the side of her body, sliding his hand down to bring her more pleasure.

“Lucius,” she begged, “I won’t… I can’t…”

“You will.” He kissed her tenderly. “You’re with me now. You’re mine.”

Her second orgasm washed over her, cleansing her body and mind of everything but him.  

Lucius rolled them effortlessly, and the sight of her above him had his control wavering. His body was tight, desperate to move beneath her, aching to fill her womb.

She was staring down at him, eyes wide in surprise at the shift. Hermione didn’t think he’d allow her the control he was obviously willing to give.

He couldn’t take his eyes off her body, the rise and fall of her chest as mesmerising as it had been when he’d first undressed her.

“This is…” she closed her eyes and he waited. She shifted, once, the movement rocketing a tremor along his spine.

“Tell me, Hermione,” he whispered. “Tell me what this is.”

She opened her eyes, the lustful look that had almost pushed him over the edge too soon, was staring back at him. “This is… deep. So deep.”

He groaned.

_This woman was going to kill him._

His hands went to her hips, encouraging her to move. She began slowly, rocking over him, her body tender from her second orgasm but flowing with anticipation of his own.

He was close, she could feel it. The way he gripped her hips, the muscles in his stomach contracting with every deep breath, the gasp as he cried out her name…

Hermione trembled as a warmth like nothing she’d ever felt before filled her body. She was stunned by its intensity, like a fire had raged through her, destroying her unhappy memories and bringing her only joy.

She felt reborn.

Beneath her, the man who had lost so much, learned — in that moment — what it felt like to live again.

* * *

 

The lovers lay together for hours, wrapped together, both hard pressed to believe their mutual fantasy had come to fruition.

Hermione was on her side, half draped over Lucius’ chest, sleep-warm, her mass of curls a tangled mess around her head. His hands had not stopped touching her, moving along her thigh, her ribs, the curve of her breast. The quiet peace between them was better than anything either could have imagined.

She finally understood what it meant to be with a man. His attention to her, his touch, his quiet words whispered into her skin, the way he had brought her the most exquisite pleasure she had ever known, had overwhelmed her.

And now, the warmth of his body beside her, the languid way his fingers were tracing all over her skin, the way he answered her never-ending questions without rolling his eyes in annoyance, were reasons enough for her to know that this hadn’t been a mistake.

“Why me?” Lucius asked, breaking the quiet calm.

She looked up at him, startled by his question, “What?”

“Of all the men on the planet, why me?”

She propped herself up on one elbow and smiled down at him. “You intrigued me, Lucius. You were a contradiction that I couldn’t quite work out. Something wasn’t adding up. Draco’s hatred was far too over the top, as was your own. I mean, the flouncing, Lucius, really?”

His hand went to his chest, feigning indignation. “The flouncing was over the top?”

“A little bit.” She laughed and then asked, “The diary you gave Ginny? You knew it would fall into the right hands and be destroyed, didn’t you?”

He looked surprised. “You are far more intelligent than I realised.”

“Brightest witch of her age, remember?”

He leaned up and kissed her. “That title is grossly incorrect. Brightest witch of _all_ ages, would be more apt.”

Hermione’s cheeks flushed at the compliment, but she poked one finger into his chest. “No need for flattery, Mister, I’m already in your bed.”

“Get used to it, Ms Granger. The compliments _and_ my bed.” He smiled quickly then looked away. “That diary almost got Ms Weasley killed.”

“It did,” Hermione touched his cheek, bringing his gaze back to her. “And I know that was never your intention.”

“How would you know such a thing?”

“Draco,” She smiled at his confusion. “A page from a book on Basilisks somehow found its way to me.”

“Brightest witch, indeed.” He murmured, eyes full of awe.

“That’s when I knew the Malfoys weren’t all they appeared to be. No one would tell me anything; walls of silence would go up at any mention of your name, which only made me more curious. So, over the next few years, I found everything I could about your family line, researching as far back as I could.” She bit her lip. “It is possible that I know more about the Malfoy line than you.”

“I don’t doubt it.”

“I found generations of elite purists, as was expected, but the more I delved, the more I came to see where the changes started. Your own father was the catalyst. He saw the inevitable and became a spy for The Order. He realised the mistakes of past generations, changing the way he thought, and in turn encouraged you and Draco to do the same.” Her fingers drew lazy patterns across his chest. “And the more I discovered about you, the more I began to see a man who was so much more than what he allowed the world to know.”

“And what was it that you saw?”

“That you were misunderstood.” She tilted her head thoughtfully. “You are loyal and courageous, not the coward everyone thought. You are kind, with an unwavering devotion to your family and those you love. And you were determined to do what was right, despite the threat of death.”

“But I have raised my son to be the same...” Lucius hesitated. “And, _ah,_ he is your age.”

“Draco? Oh, no.” Hermione laughed. “Sure, he’s definitely got… something.” She paused, leaning down to place a single kiss on his chest. “But he’s not you, and he never will be. And your age has never been a question for me.”

“I’m pleased to hear that, Ms Granger.”

“Are you ever going to call me by my name?” she asked. “Or am I to be known as Ms Granger for eternity.”

Lucius touched her face, smiling up at her, “You will not be Ms _Granger_ for eternity... Hermione. I make that promise to you now.”

Her eyes lit up at the sound of her name coming from his lips. She moved over him, her thighs parting over his hips. Leaning down to rest her forehead on his, her dark curls fell around him; a shelter to block out the world.

“It’s always been you, Lucius.” She smiled at him, Narcissa’s words echoing in her mind. “You intrigued me as a child, and you have captivated me since I learned who you really are. You are the man I have always dreamed that one day would be mine. A good man. A loyal man. A protector. A man who has sought redemption. A man who does good in the world. You are all of that and more.”

She eased up and he slid inside her, each groaning at the feel of the other. She paused, leaning down to kiss him.

“So much more.”


	4. Chapter 4

12 months later

_ “Metanoia - The journey of changing one’s mind, heart, self, or way of life.” Fuckology _

Hermione walked down the footpath, her six-inch Manolos clicking confidently with each step. Her pantsuit had been made for her and fitted like a glove. She’d never been one for frivolous spending but she loved the feel of the expensive fabric and now she couldn’t imagine wearing anything less than tailor-made. 

And Lucius was only too happy for her to spend his money how she saw fit. 

She smiled to herself. 

Lucius. 

Lucius, who had spent the morning in bed with her. Lucius, who still surprised her with his generosity, his loyalty, his protectiveness. His ability to fuck her senseless. 

Lucius, who worshipped everything about her, even her love of books. The man had built her a library, for fuck’s sake! And it was with great pleasure that she had shoved that fact down Ronald Weasley’s throat when he dared approach her a few months back to ask what the hell she thought she was doing with ‘those fucking Malfoy bastards’.

She’d done away with her so-called friends — their hurtful barbs and stinging remarks meant little to her anymore. They were all still living their miserable lives — cheating on each other and getting caught in pants-down situations on regular occasions — and she knew by the rumour mill they were blaming Lucius for swaying her and convincing her to abandon them. They were the victims.

She hadn’t bothered to correct the gossip columns; her relationship with Lucius was no one’s business. Molly’s comments were particularly cruel, going so far as to insult her parents for rearing such an ungrateful turncoat slag, and remarking that what’s in the bitch always comes out in the pup. 

As far as Hermione was concerned, when Molly Weasley went a step too far with her remarks, she became fair game. 

A forged note in Arthur’s handwriting, inviting Molly to lunch in his office, led to her finding her husband balls deep in Mary Cattermole’s arse a few days afterwards.

Hermione’s smile widened as she continued down the footpath; she rather enjoyed watching the spectacle that their lives had become, and was glad she was no longer a part of their world. 

Because without them in it, her world had become richer and more vibrant. A world in which she would never have dared to imagine if she’d stuck with them. 

She glanced back over her shoulder; her personal bodyguard was just a few steps behind her. She’d protested at first, telling Lucius she was more than capable of hexing the balls off anyone who dared to come near her, but he would have none of it. She couldn’t use magic all of the time — for obvious reasons — and, now that they were back doing business in the wizarding world as well, he wanted her safe from the scum she used to call family. He refused to allow her to be in any danger, and the fear of losing her that was evident in his eyes when he insisted Raphael be by her side whenever he wasn’t, was endearing. She’d relented — of course she had — and now Raphael was her constant guardian angel. 

She felt the wide-eyes stares of everyone she passed; Raphael was built like a brick shithouse and she knew they looked a sight whenever they were out. But she no longer cared. Muggle and wizard worlds alike, they could stare all they wanted. 

She no longer curled into herself, wanting to hide from everyone around her. She now walked with her shoulders back and her spine straight, and carried a confidence that was unimaginable a year ago. 

But when one was held up rather than torn down, the change was inevitable.

“Ms Granger,” Carlos nodded formally at her as she arrived at Lucius’ new bar, just off Diagon Alley. He held the door open and she stopped and smiled. 

“Carlos, I’ve told you a thousand times, please call me Hermione.”

“Nuh-uh, Ms Granger.” He shook his head. “The boss would kill me.”

“Yes, well, maybe the  _ boss _ needs to be reminded who the actual boss is.” She winked at him and he chuffed out a nervous laugh. “Is everything okay?”

“Ah, he’s in a meeting,” Carlos told her with a shake of his head.

“Aurors again?” 

Carlos nodded and Hermione rolled her eyes. 

“They do know they’ll never find anything, don’t they?”

“Nah, not too bright, that lot. They think the boss’ll slip up.” He grinned. “Smart man, the boss. Only has the best working for him.”

Hermione kissed Carlos’ cheek, making him blush, and stepped through the door. 

Lucius was in his usual place in the back — his luxurious office not unlike the one in Villiers — surrounded by his crew, and looking utterly bored as the three Aurors questioned him.

Hermione shook her head. Harry, Seamus and Ron; the three biggest idiots Merlin ever blew breath into were sitting with their backs to her. The Auror Department really needed to assess just who they let in.

She did, however, take the chance to just look at Lucius before he spotted her. 

This man —  _ her _ man — was fucking hot. He was a walking advertisement for how to make a suit look good, and the all-black three piece he was wearing today was no exception. His short, dark hair was no longer jarring, and suited his strong profile. Although he had changed it years ago to hide himself from the wizarding world, Hermione may have hinted of late that she might like to see him in his blond glory once more. Her eyes shifted, focusing on his mouth, a mouth that had worked its magic on her just hours ago, and she bit her own lip. She knew those lips were the topic of many conversations amongst the women in his crew; Pansy had asked her numerous times about just how good they felt. 

Hermione was still becoming accustomed to Pansy, their friendship was still in its infancy, and Pansy’s forwardness always brought a blush to Hermione’s cheeks. But Pansy had also shown a softer side, and her loyalty was true — unlike that of the people she had once thought of as friends. 

The Floo lit up, making her smile; Draco was here, looking as sharp and elegant as his father, and her heart did a tiny flutter.

_ Damned Malfoy men. _

She had been nervous about Draco’s initial reaction to Lucius’ choice in her. Their track record had been fiery, to say the least. But his open acceptance had shocked her. He’d simply shrugged a shoulder and welcomed her into the fold. He had, however, told her that he would not ever be calling her _ Mum _ . 

Hermione caught his eye and he grinned, stepping gracefully out of the fireplace and moving to stand beside her.

“Your  _ friends _ are here again?”

“Apparently so.” She rolled her eyes, and they both laughed. 

Lucius’ eyes lifted at the sound — a swirling mixture of gray, green, and blue locking onto her. He straightened his shoulders and stood, all conversation stopped. The men surrounding him shifted away from the table the second they saw her, knowing full well the consequences if they didn’t stand every time she entered a room. 

She crossed the room slowly — ignoring the stunned faces of the three mannerless morons still sitting at the table — loving the way Lucius’ eyes trailed down from her face to her feet and back up again. He reached immediately for her, threading his fingers through her hair and covering her mouth with his. She leaned into him, sliding her arms around his waist and holding him tight. His kiss was far too passionate to be appropriate in a public place, and she knew that in part he was proving a point, but she simply didn’t care.

It was no secret they were together. In fact, it had been quite the scandal the first time they had been seen in public. Lucius’ reputation was sketchy at best, despite his declaration of having been a spy for The Order being found to be true. He still wasn’t trusted, and his ‘corruption of the brightest witch of her age’ was still the subject of gossip the wizarding world over. 

But Hermione had been happy to be ‘corrupted’ by this man. His old-school manners, his respect, his encouragement and enthusiasm towards anything she showed an interest in, all simply proved that Ronald Weasley was, as Lucius had said, just a boy. 

And Harry and Seamus weren’t any better. 

She had become accustomed to the gentlemanly etiquette that surrounded her, and not just from Lucius. His men held the women around them in the highest regard, far more respectful than anything she had ever experienced. They were men who would never have sat on the couch, a beer in one hand while the other was shoved down their pants, sharing their ‘conquests’ with their mates. They were polite, charming, and loyal, with manners that made her swoon. 

But they were also the scariest bunch of motherfuckers she had ever known in her life. Threats rolled off their tongues as easily as thank yous. 

And the man who was currently making it hard for her not to purr, was no different. 

Lucius drew back after an eternity, smiling at her, and she lifted her hand to his cheek, her eyes flicking briefly to the rock on her finger. A new addition; she was still stunned every time she looked at it. A large diamond, which Pansy assured her was at least ten carats, set in platinum and perched perfectly on her left ring finger. 

“Join us?” Lucius held out his hand to the table. “I’m sure the Auror Department would like to know more about you, my love.”

She slid into the chair he held out for her, smiling when he sat beside her and made a show of slipping his hand below the table to grip her thigh. 

“They have come to talk to us... again.”

Hermione rolled her eyes and finally looked at the three Aurors sitting across from her. To think she had been through so much with them. Now they were strangers. They all wore identical expressions: slack jaws, eyes bulging, cheeks flushed from seeing Lucius kiss her like he had. 

“You would think they would tire of us,” she said coolly. “They’ve yet to find anything to substantiate their accusations.”

“Yes, but boys will be boys.” Lucius squeezed her thigh again. His hatred for these three was barely concealed. Given the opportunity he would gladly bind their limbs and put them at the bottom of the Thames. 

“‘Mione.” Ron finally found his voice and, unfortunately, it spoke the wrong word.

Lucius slammed his fist onto the table and the three Aurors almost fell backwards in surprise.

“‘Mione?” He snarled. “‘ _ Mione _ ? This is Ms Granger, and you will address her correctly, or not at all.” 

“Lucius.” Hermione touched his shoulder gently. “It’s okay. I’ve mentioned previously to Mr Weasley how I hate to be called ‘Mione, but he was raised by a screaming banshee and a man who thinks garden gnomes are cute, so the poor guy doesn’t know any better.”

Ron’s face flamed beet-red, and Hermione felt a surge of pride; she’d managed to politely insult three of the Weasleys in one hit, if only she could have gotten a shot in at the rest of them… except Charlie, of course. He and Sirius were doing a marvellous job setting up business deals for Lucius in Eastern Europe. 

She noted Harry staring at her hand, the sizeable diamond glinting in the overhead light. “Is there a problem, Mr Potter?” 

He looked startled at her formal address. “Are you engaged to him, ‘Mi—” he coughed, flinching at Lucius’ glare, “Ms Granger?”

“I’m not sure how that’s relevant, Mr Potter. I mean, you’re here to investigate Mr Malfoy, not me.” Hermione sat back, her hand sliding from Lucius’ shoulder to the back of his neck, her fingers lightly caressing his warm skin. It was a deliberate gesture, one of intimacy, to show these three fuckers just where her allegiances stood. 

“Well,  _ ah _ , it is,  _ um _ , relevant,” Harry stammered nervously. “If you’re now Mr Malfoy’s... um…”

“Fiancée?” Hermione suggested with no small amount of amusement at Harry’s squirming.

“So it’s true?” Ron cut in, pointing his finger at Lucius. “You’re engaged to this piece of trash?” 

“I guess that depends on your definition of trash.” Hermione reached into her purse and tossed a photograph across the table, smiling sweetly at both Harry and Ron. “Your fiancée, Mr Weasley, and your wife, Mr Potter. Am I correct?”

The picture was of Lavender and Ginny in a very compromising position with Seamus, and Ron’s already glowing face almost burst into flame. 

“Where the fuck d’ya get that?” Seamus looked horrified, jumping up. Although at Ron and Harry seeing the picture, or at being caught with Lavender and Ginny and their less than stellar reputations, Hermione wasn’t certain.

“Maybe you should be more concerned with just who you’re fucking, Mr Finnigan.” Hermione looked between Harry and Ron, and then back to Seamus, her sweet smile turning into something more devious. “Molly Weasley expects pure-Potters, not fag-breathed Finnigans?” 

Seamus’ face had gone deathly pale and she was sure that Ron was about to pass out. Harry was staring between the photo and Seamus. He had no words.

No doubt the shit was going to hit the fan later. Hermione almost wished she could watch.

Lucius ran his hand higher along her thigh, grinning broadly. Hermione smiled back at him, a silent exchange passing between them; this meeting definitely wasn’t going the way the Aurors had planned.

“Now, what is it that you’re after this time?” She looked at all three of them in turn. “You’ve searched our pubs, and our homes, even our vaults at Gringotts. The only remaining place is our potion facility and greenhouse, which The Ministry has approved, but we are more than happy to show you. Mr Zabini, if you will?” Hermione nodded at Blaise, who winked at her then headed through the door in the back. “And we have the perfect person to give you the tour.”

“Longbottom!” Seamus’ voice squeaked, when Neville appeared half a minute later. 

Hermione smiled. Neville was Lucius’ well-hidden secret. A genius Herbologist and way above the teaching job he’d been offered at Hogwarts, very few people knew he worked with The Malfoys. He was no longer the chubby introvert they had first known. He was cunning and ruthless — a true Slytherin, Lucius often said — and he had grown up well, turning the heads of females wherever he went. 

But he’d only ever had eyes for one. 

“Parkinson?” Harry’s eye’s almost fell out of his head when he realised whose shoulders Neville had his arm draped over. Pansy’s talent for making potions was equal to Neville’s ability to grow unique plants, and they made a formidable team, both at work and at play. 

“Lads,” Neville said with a bemused smirk, taking a seat beside Lucius. Pansy sat across his lap, and he circled her hips with one arm.

“These boys would like to tour the facilities, Mr Longbottom,” Lucius explained. “They are under the impression that you and Ms Parkinson are... up to no good.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Neville pinched Pansy’s hip and she laughed. 

“Not in front of the Aurors, babe.” Pansy ran her hand down Neville’s chest. “Whatever will they think?”

“That I’m the luckiest son of a bitch on the planet.” He tightened his grip on Pansy’s hip. “I got the perfect girl, and the perfect job, while they’re still playing games.” He reached inside his waistcoat and pulled out a card, flinging it across the table to land in front of Harry. “Meet me there in an hour.”

“What the fuck, Neville?” Ron looked like he was about to explode. “You work for this arsehole too? What the fuck is wrong with the both of you?”

“Let’s just say I wasn’t content to sit back as an Auror and drink myself into women’s knickers, Ron. We were the generation that changed the world, yet you all gave up. We should have been there to ensure nothing like that ever happened again. Did you think you were doing that by becoming Aurors? Corrupt ones at that? You just couldn’t give a fuck, could you? Let someone else worry about it this time, is that it? To think I looked up to you, Harry. What a let down you’ve become, the three of you — Gryffindors, my arse. We’re doing good work here, for both worlds. The drugs we produce, the potions we make, they save lives — they stop addictions. We set up rehabilitation facilities, counselling services, mentoring programmes... This family is doing your fucking work for you. You’d do well to remember that. So, to answer your question, Ron. There’s nothing wrong with us. In fact, we’re worth twelve of you.”

Lucius sat back, his trademark smirk curling his lip, Hermione’s fingers still caressing the back of his neck. “Now, boys, Mr Longbottom has been more than accommodating. You’re free to visit his facilities within the hour. So if that’s all, we’ve got a business to run.”

Seamus stood, eager to leave the embarrassment behind, but Ron and Harry remained seated. Hermione arched one perfectly shaped eyebrow and stared them both down. 

“Is there something else either of you need to say?”

“You’re not as smart as you think, ‘Mione.” Ron leered at her — at least he tried. She was sure he’d already shat in his pants — quite literally — when Lucius took offence at the horrendous nickname, and now he was trying to be the hero he never was, nor would ever be. 

“And why would you think that, Mr Weasley?” 

“The Malfoys? Really?” He laughed, glancing around to Harry for support, but Harry was simply looking dumbstruck. “They’re scum. And they’ll turn on you and your filthy blood—“

“Watch what you’re saying, little brother.” Charlie’s voice was brittle with contempt and Ron spun around so quickly, he fell from his chair and landed on his arse. Charlie squatted down in front of him. “Family loyalty is what the Malfoys are all about. But you wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

Hermione smiled as Sirius’ hand landed on Charlie’s shoulder, murmuring to his husband to ‘go easy, my love.’ She was completely in love with Lucius, but that didn’t change the fact that she was still insanely jealous of these two. 

“Charlie? What the...?” Ron looked stunned. Harry sprung up from his chair and stared at Sirius, his mouth hanging open. Hermione noticed the pained look exchanged between the two men. Molly and Ginny had given Harry an ultimatum — that much she knew — his godfather, the man he had idolised and loved, or Ginny. It had broken Sirius’ heart when Harry chose Ginny, Molly bloody Weasley chirping in her trophy son-in-law’s ear constantly about how Sirius was a disgusting abnormality and that the Weasleys, sans the son she’d disowned, were his only family. She’d played him like a fiddle. Hermione shook her head; she had hoped Harry would come to his senses eventually.

Charlie gripped his younger brother by the shirt collar and hauled him to his feet in one swift movement. “Mr Malfoy asked politely, but I wasn’t raised like he was. So, unless you, Scarhead, and the leprechaun have some solid evidence to back up your accusations, get the fuck out.”

“Oh, but before you go...” Hermione slid another picture across the table and Ron blanched. Lavender’s mouth was wrapped around a cock so large the strain was visible on her face; eyes watering, saliva dripping down her chin. And the size, coupled with the look on Ron's face, clearly indicated that the appendage didn’t belong to him. “As I already said, Mr Weasley, your definition of scum is a little off. Lavender may have agreed to marry you, but her lifestyle clearly isn’t going to change. And just a word to the wise, Mr Weasley, your new fiancée is so easy...” Hermione looked around at the group of men surrounding them and then looked at the picture. “I’m certain that any one of these men could have her any time they wanted.”

All the colour drained from Ron’s face as he glanced around the room, realisation dawning that someone in the room was the one in the picture. 

“Maybe you also should redefine your definition of smart. The gossip columns would love to get their hands on these pictures.” 

“Blackmailing an Auror is illegal, Hermione.” Harry said quietly, but she only laughed.

“Illegal? I wasn’t sure you knew what that word meant. Besides, it’s not blackmail. I’m simply letting you know that there might be more of these pictures around — hundreds more — and I would hate for the Aurors’ Office to be embarrassed by you all so publicly.” 

Lucius stood, holding his hand out to Hermione, and pulling her to his side when she took took it. He kissed her temple and smiled. “Have I told you today how much I love you?”

Hermione turned to wrap both her arms around him, looking back over her shoulder at the stunned expressions on her former friends’ faces. “I believe you said it very loudly while we were alone this morning.”

“Well, maybe we should retire and I can tell you all over again.” Lucius said in a low voice, running his nose along her hairline. “Mr Weasley, Mr Potter, Mr Finnigan, we’re definitely done here. Carlos will see you all out.” 

Hermione watched as they left, and she shook her head. How she had put up with them as long as she had, how she had thought she was in love with Ron, how she had ever thought them her friends was a total mystery. 

“Put them out of your mind, my love,” Lucius whispered, “I’m certain, after remembering what you’re capable of, they won’t be back.”

He led her towards the Floo and pulled her in with him. His lips lifted slowly into a smile she knew all too well. It was a smile that said she was about to spend the afternoon very naked and very satisfied. 

“And we won’t be back today either.”

He kissed her quickly and looked back over his shoulder. Standing around his office were his family — Draco, Raphael, Carlos, Blaise, Pansy, Neville, Charlie, and Sirius. He loved them all. 

He swallowed, taking a moment. Words weren’t needed. 

They all knew.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many teabags were squeezed during the writing of this fic. 
> 
> The bodyguard/gardener quip comes from The Lord of the Rings - The Two Towers:  
> Frodo: "We are hobbits of the Shire. Frodo Baggins is my name and this is Samwise Gamgee."  
> Faramir: "Your bodyguard?"  
> Sam: "His gardener."
> 
> “Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, she walks into mine.”   
> Rick Blaine, Casablanca. Ranked #67 in the American Film Institute's list of the top 100 movie quotations in American cinema (Wikipedia).

**Author's Note:**

> Many teabags were squeezed during the writing of this fic. 
> 
> The bodyguard/gardener quip comes from The Lord of the Rings - The Two Towers:  
> Frodo: "We are hobbits of the Shire. Frodo Baggins is my name and this is Samwise Gamgee."  
> Faramir: "Your bodyguard?"  
> Sam: "His gardener."
> 
> “Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, she walks into mine.”  
> Rick Blaine, Casablanca. Ranked #67 in the American Film Institute's list of the top 100 movie quotations in American cinema (Wikipedia).


End file.
